Zulu Squad: Distraction Point
by thirdstring-overlord
Summary: Sequel to "Zulu Squad." The situation in Auburn is crumbling like the proverbial cookie. Will the Zulu Squad survive? Will Zulu Seven overcome his eating disorder? Does it even matter, considering how Extraction Point wasn't canon?
1. Interval 01: Inception

**ZULU SQUAD: DISTRACTION POINT**

Zulu Seven was slowly going insane. His squad was trapped. This meant that the only food they had left was the food they'd carried with them. And that meant that he was going to starve to death!

A scream was welling up in his throat. Nothing scared him more than the idea of starving to death, not even the thought of being hideously slaughtered by one of Alma's psychic tantrums. He was poised on the brink of certain doom, about to fall off the lip of the Great Cup of Life and into the Not-So-Great, In-Fact-Rather-Unpleasant Coffee of Death.

Of course, to make such an analogy complete, he needed to think of something that could be represented by doughnut. Yes, a nice, freshly baked doughnut, smothered with pink icing and sprinkles. He'd never been able to try one of the pastries before, and it was only because of extreme luck that he'd been able to find out what they were called. Doughnut. Doooooough-nutttt. Even its name was sweet to his tongue.

----------------------------------

Meanwhile, Zulu One and Zulu Four were having another personality conflict. It stemmed from a matter-of-fact statement from Zulu Four that he was running low on ammunition.

"What do you mean, 'only fifty rounds left?'"

"Sir, if I recall correctly, I used up most of my ammo when we fired at Zulu Nine."

"You expect me to believe that? What kind of an idiot would give such an order?"

"Apparently, an idiot of the Zulu Squad Corporal variety, sir."

"That's just as ridiculous! I'm the only corporal in this squad."

Zulu Four paused, waiting for the revelation to dawn on his squad leader. Neurons fired furiously as Zulu One thought about what the hell Zulu Four was implying. Had some scheming thug impersonated him and ordered his squad to open fire on the REV-6? He didn't seem to recall such a thing. In fact, the only thing he seemed to be able to recall from the incident was himself standing heroically atop the wreckage and firing away at the stubborn armored shape above. But wouldn't that mean that…

His patience waning, Zulu Four decided to drop the bomb. "Sir, I think you just shot your own mouth off."

Zulu One's skin crawled. He slapped his hand against his face mask, expecting there to be tremendous pain, expecting for his hand to come away slippery with blood. When none of that happened, his temper flared.

"What's the meaning of this, Zulu Four? Are you trying to play games with me?"

"No, sir. It was just a figure of spee-…"

"I don't want to hear about it! Don't you ever dare to try that again! Besides, even if I tried to shoot myself, I couldn't—_I have the safety on_!" He said, waving the submachine gun in front of Zulu Four for him to see.

_Pak-pak-pak! _The sound of the RPL's signature three-round stutter echoed through the station. Zulu One stared at the small wisp of smoke rising from the muzzle of his firearm, then at Zulu Four's body lying prostrate on the tiled floor. Had he just accidentally killed one of his squad members? Friendly fire was a serious offense under the Armacham regulations. He wondered with a churning stomach about what Genevieve Aristide would say.

Zulu Four groaned wordlessly and began to sit up. Zulu One nearly groaned as well. This was even worse! To verbally admit to Zulu Four that he, a superior ranking Replica, had made a mistake and had nearly killed him was _dangerous!_ So he frantically searched for something else to say, something that would put _him_ on the defensive instead.

"Zulu Four!" He snapped.

"Y-Yes, ssirrr?" Zulu Four said. His speech was badly slurred. The first round from Zulu One's weapon had hit him in his left shoulder pad, the second had just barely been stopped by his ballistic helmet, and the third had gone wild.

"You stupid, clumsy bastard! Why didn't you move out of the way?"

Zulu Four had a vague sense of puzzlement about Zulu One's statement, but was too disoriented to think straight. "I'm not entirely sure, sir. Can I have permission to keep lying down for a little while?"

"Permission granted. It's a courtesy, considering what a stupid move you just made."

"Thank you, sir."

Zulu One felt proud of himself.

Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream pierced his ears. "NO! NO! I CAN'T DIE LIKE THAT! NO! NOOOOOO!"

He whirled around to see a hysterical Zulu Seven clutching his head and staggering about like some head-clutching staggerer. "DON'T EAT THOSE CHEEZEE POOZ! THEY'RE MINE! _MINE_, YOU PAIN-LOVING MONSTROSITY! AUGGHH!"

Zulu One quietly stared at the bizarre spectacle as Zulu Seven's speech began to degenerate into uncontrollable shrieks of terror. The delirious soldier's legs went next, slowly buckling beneath him until he collapsed on the floor. Zulu One was aware of Zulu Seven's obsession with eating, but these convulsions were quite novel. Seven's body soon became almost completely motionless and silent, save for some occasional curious twitching movements.


	2. Interval 02: Revelation

Zulu One was just about to check Zulu Seven's pulse when a brilliant flash disrupted the gray morning light that had only just begun to peak through the entry gates. The flash dulled quickly, but a strange reflection began to dance in the windows of the buildings outside...it looked like a giant, fiery mushroom. It seemed familiar to him. What did they call those things again? His mind searched through the endless hours of tactical instruction he'd received. While he couldn't remember what they were called, he did remember one thing about those giant, fiery mushrooms: They were bad. _Dangerous_, even. This notion was reinforced by a growing roar that shook the building's foundations.

"SQUAD, LOOK OUT! IT"S A GIANT, FIERY MUSHROOM!"

Zulu Seven was on his feet in a split second. "Mushrooms? Where?"

"He means a mushroom _cloud_," Zulu Four remarked distantly. Had it not been for the squad's radio system, his words would have been lost to the tremendous noise. "It's a type of explosion that often results from a nuclear blast."

"You mean I can't eat it?" Zulu Seven said in a tone of voice ordinarily reserved for mourning loved ones.

"We've got to find a way out!" Zulu One said. "Someone help me out with this door!"

He quickly scanned his squad for any suitable volunteers. Heavy Armor Z-2 was once again busy curling up and whimpering. Zulu Four was still lying on the ground, and Zulu Five and Six returned his gaze uncomprehendingly. "Goddammit, why won't someone help me?"

Suddenly, there was another high-pitched burst of static that sent the entire squad staggering. A blue door on the other side of the station opened up silently.

The squad members hesitated.

_Crash!_ A truck, tossed into the air like a football from the nuclear explosion, came to its final resting place a block away from the subway station. The squad needed no better reason to depart. They charged through the doorway and into a storage room, overturning a large shelf in the process. As a result, they were buried underneath a virtual avalanche of hastily marked cardboard boxes and rusty tools.

Something flashed through Zulu One's mind. Something terribly important.

"Squad, sound off." He commanded.

"_Woogh_," Z-2 moaned.

"Zulu Four, reporting," Zulu Four said.

"Zulu Five, reporting," Zulu Five and Zulu Six said.

"I…need…food," Zulu Seven said.

Zulu One's cool returned to him. There wasn't anyone missing after all. His leadership was a beacon for all Replica corporals to foll-...

"Sir?"

"What is it, Zulu Four?"

"I think we left Assassin Z-3 behind."

Zulu One sighed. "Then we'll go back and get him."

"Well, it's a bit more complicated than that, sir." Zulu Five and Six chimed in.

"And why is that?"

"Remember that door we came in through?"

"Yes…"

"Well, it doesn't really exist anymore. Now there's just a wall."

Zulu One was just about to reply when a massive wave of pressure slammed him into the ground and out of consciousness.

----------------------------

It was not until hours afterward that Zulu One stirred again. He drowsily looked up from the floor and stared at a door (come to think of it, he didn't remember a door being there earlier) that was marked with a strange symbol. It was roughly triangular, and appeared to have been written in blood. Zulu One frowned. Obviously, whoever had drawn the symbol was not aware of Armacham Technology Corporation's Infectious Materials Policy, RT.14. He sighed and entered the doorway, wondering why someone would do such a terrible thing.

He found himself in another industrial room. Its only source of light was a flood lamp tossed carelessly on the floor, illuminating-…

Illuminating a floor and ceiling slick with an obscene amount of blood. His breathing became rapid and ragged. A figure was standing in the corner, its head twitching like a dying insect.

"Hey!" He called out. "Weren't you ever familiarized with ATC Infectious Mat…"

It turned around to face him, and it quickly became clear that it was not human, and therefore not in ATC's regulatory jurisdiction. Its outline was roughly human, but the resemblance stopped there. Its limbs were misshapen and withered. Its skin was wrinkled and a sickly greenish-tan in color. Its face was a puckered, featureless mass of what could have been scar tissue.

"_Nyaaahh!_" It lunged at him, becoming translucent in the process. Two glowing red eyes winked into existence on its head, filled with nothing but the same mindless hatred that had poisoned Alma's mind.


	3. Interval 03: Discombobulation

The rest of the squad awoke to Zulu One screaming, "_Somebody help me!_"

Zulu Four drowsily stood up. More compelled by curiosity than loyalty to his squad leader, he decided that he would investigate. With Zulu Seven, Zulu Five, and Zulu Six reluctantly in tow, he entered the room.

They were immediately greeted by a dozen more malevolent apparitions, which tackled them and generally added to the mayhem.

"Zulu Four, get over here! I'm getting my ass kicked!" Zulu One barked as he was punched in the face repeatedly by a translucent menace.

"I'd help you out, sir, but I'm busy getting my ass kicked as well!"

Suddenly, the phantoms redirected their attack to a new, more interesting target: Heavy Armor Z-2. He stood sleepily in the doorway, regarding the creatures that hatefully bludgeoned him with a childlike puzzlement. Why were the little sort-of-invisible people trying to hurt him? And why were they running around half-crouched, like they were trying to hide? Silly little sort-of-invisible creatures! They couldn't hide. They were only _sort_-_of_-invisible, not ab-so-lutely invisible.

A sobering notion passed through his mind. Maybe they were trying to hurt him because they _were_ only sort-of_-_invisible, and not ab-so-lutely invisible. Or maybe they were trying to hurt him because they were always running around half-crouched, and it made their backs hurt. A wave of sadness and sympathy washed over him. He'd teach them to stand up straight. It wasn't that hard. It wasn't that hard!

Hoping to provide a simple demonstration, he eagerly snatched one of the little sort-of-invisible people up and started to straighten it up. It struggled and hissed, but he knew it was because it hurt to have your back straightened out after all that crouching. All of a sudden the creature burst like a balloon, leaving behind a big cloud of black flaky stuff. Heavy Armor Z-2 was sad.

One of the little sort-of-invisible people kicked him in the knee, and he kicked back, like he always did when the doctor with the little rubber hammer hit him in the knee. One time he had accidentally kicked the doctor between his legs, and the man had to go see his _own_ doctor. That was sad. He was also sad to see that the creature he'd accidentally kicked had turned into black flaky stuff, too.

It was then that Zulu One noticed the remarkable ease with Z-2 had dispatched his supernatural tormentors. He watched as the gentle giant's armored foot rose up and slammed into what was obviously its weak spot: the groin!

"SQUAD! KICK THEM IN THEIR CROTCHES!"

The creatures once again attacked the Zulu Squad. This time, they were resisted with iron wills—and steel-toed boots. Zulu One hopped about the blood-soaked arena on one foot like a camouflage-wearing flamingo, changing his position only to strike out at an unfortunate phantom's most sensitive areas. The overturned flood lamp cast a shadow play of the entire spectacle that would have made a veteran _avant-garde _actor envious.

His tactic was completely pointless, of course. The shadow creatures destabilized after enough physical damage, and being asexual phantoms, crotch-kicking was no more effective than sucker punches. (Not surprisingly, this was another attack Zulu One had considered.)

Eventually, though, the counterattack succeeded, and nothing remained of the formerly formidable foes. Zulu One collapsed on the floor for a well-earned breather.


	4. Interval 04: Tom Clancification

Ironically, the Zulu Squad had accomplished a feat achieved by no other Replica squads that night: they won a battle against the shadow creatures without any losses

The Zulu Squad had accomplished a feat achieved by no other Replica squads that night: they won a battle against a full pack of shadow creatures without losing any squad members.

Unless you were to count Assassin Z-3. At this moment, the Assassin was just starting to wake to strange, low voices coming from outside the bathroom door.

"Sir, there are still no signs of Replica activity. I think they're deactivated for good."

"Very well, but stay sharp. We still need to apprehend Morrison."

"Roger that, sir."

Assassin Z-3's mind raced, desperately searching for some sort of an escape route. All of a sudden, in a rare burst of ingenuity, he remembered his trump card.

--

The voices outside belonged to none other than the merciless mercenaries known as the Nightcrawlers. Had the one of their sentries been just a bit more attentive, he might have noticed a slight distortion in the air traveling from the restroom to the center of the station.

One of the ceiling vents was swiftly torn off and came clattering to the floor, accompanied by a quick buzzing sound and strange blue electric arcs. This caught the attention of Zach Parker, a former Special Forces soldier and relatively new recruit to the Nightcrawlers.

He nervously motioned to Jake Price, one of his comrades. "Did you see that?" he asked, his voice heavily distorted by his facemask's built-in vocoder.

Price looked up stoically at the fallen vent, then at Parker. "That thing? I think it was a squirrel."

"Are you _kidding_ me? There's no way a squirrel could've-…"

"Do you want to take a closer look for yourself?"

Parker thought about it for a moment, then made his decision. "All right. It was a squirrel, then."

--

His body coursing with adrenaline, Assassin Z-3 sped through the ventilation shaft towards what he hoped might be the location of the rest of his squad. He spent what seemed like days traveling through the maze of tunnels before he heard an encouraging sound: a voice that sounded very much like that of another Replica. Overjoyed, Z-3 punched open a ceiling vent and dropped to the floor, landing right in front of two Replica soldiers.

One of them was turned away, and didn't notice him immediately. The other soldier, who was facing Z-3, did a comedic double-take and whipped out a remote bomb detonator. A dangerously overstuffed backpack was slung on his shoulder.

"I'll do it, dammit…I swear…take one more step towards my things, and we'll be, uh…" The soldier paused, searching for a suitable threat. "We'll be digging latrines in HELL!"

The other Replica gracefully turned to face Z-3. "Oh dear! My most sincere of apologies, sir," he spoke with an aristocratic British accent. "My comrade is afflicted with a highly peculiar neurosis; he is fond of picking up…goodness, I seem to have already forgotten. What are they again, Yankee Four?"

Yankee Four's posture eased, but his hand remained on the detonator. "My treasures. And it's not neurosis, _Yankee One_." He said "Yankee One" in a sarcastic, shrill tone of voice usually reserved for complaints expressed by 13-year-old sisters. "It's why I was placed on this world. To collect treasures."

"He really is quite a remarkable fellow, isn't he?" Yankee One chuckled. "Oh, good heavens, where are my manners? May I ask what your name might be, good sir?"

Assassin Z-3 was stunned. "You…you guys are survivors from the Yankee Squad! I thought you were all dead!"


	5. Interval 05: Certification

"We are most assuredly not," Yankee One assured. "Although we did sustain some, er, dreadful losses."

"I'll probably never find where I stashed my first pack of treasures," Yankee Four mourned. "It's lost forever." He was interrupted by a sharp nudge from Yankee One. "Just like Yankee Two, Yankee Three, and Yankees Five through Twelve." he added sheepishly.

"Anyway, we have spent the last few hours attempting to explore this dreadful place, but alas, it seems as though we have been making a circle. It's a dreadful place, really-…"

"You already said that," Assassin Z-3 noted.

"Oh, did I? Oh, bother. I do believe that this dreadful place is starting to go to my head. Did I mention that this dreadful place is really starting to go to my head? Dreadful, isn't it?"

Then Z-3 proved that Replicas could cry.

--

Meanwhile, Zulu One was busy with what he did best: accomplishing little or nothing whatsoever. Emboldened by his improbable victory over the shadow creatures, he sent his men out to recon the deserted maintenance corridors. "If you encounter any enemy units, pin them down with the light machine gun, and then flank them with rifle fire." he declared.

"Uh, sir? We don't _have_ a light machine gun." Zulu Four said.

"We don't? Since when?"

"Since the inception of the Replica Battalion, sir."

"Damn. Then where's our gajoopin' logistics officer?"

"Sir, we don't have a "gajoopin'" logistics officer, either."

"Oh, gajoop!"

"Sir? What exactly is 'gajoop' supposed to mean?"

"It means that if you don't stop asking gajoopin' questions, Zulu Four, I am going to rip your gajoopin' feet off and shove them into your gajoopin' mind!"

"Sir, that's not even physically possi-…"

"Right, then!" Zulu One said. "Back to what I was saying. We'll split into two groups: Fireteam Apple and Fireteam…uh, Fireteam…" He racked his brain for a name. He saw an empty box for a television set made by Burptronics. "Fireteam Burptronics!"

Zulu Seven had also noticed the cardboard box, and before Zulu One had finished his proclamation, he had already darted up to the packaging and began to shred it into tiny bits.

"Zulu Seven!" Zulu One cried, aghast. "What…the…_hell_?"

Zulu Seven could not be dissuaded. One by one, he shoved the packaging pieces into his mouth and chewed on them, savoring the cheesy, salty taste. It mattered not what food he was actually eating, or even if it was food at all…for he would taste Cheezee Pooz forever more.

CHEEZEE POOZ FOREVER MORE

_CHEEZEE POOZ FOREVER MORE_

_CHEEZEE POOZ __**FOREVER MORE**_

"CHEEZEE POOZ FOHEFFAH MOHF!" Zulu Seven exclaimed, his mouth still filled with cardboard.

The squad fell silent, contemplating this new development.


End file.
